


Give Me Just One Reason

by Ragazza_Guasto



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Allusions to PTSD, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal, Bar Room Brawl, Bisexuality, First Time, Fluff, Hate Sex, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Okay look everybody in the mcu is mentioned, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Public Sex, Safer Sex, Snark, Social Justice, WS!Bucky Barnes, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragazza_Guasto/pseuds/Ragazza_Guasto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(ง'̀-'́)ง Steve Rogers pushes ex-military Bucky Barnes to the breaking point, somehow results in beautiful lovemaking next to a dumpster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Just One Reason

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the squad. Had they had their way, this fic would have been named (ง'̀-'́)ง. AO3 will actually accept this as a title but I had a hard time reconciling that to myself. I'm not as pretentious or as androgynously pretty as Prince. Anyway, here's this ridiculous fight me fic featuring angry, smol Steve Rogers and semi-broken, begrudgingly bisexual Bucky Barnes. Enjoy!

_Oh god, I forget her name. Shit. Double shit. Katy? Kitty? Shit. Jessica?_

“And there’s this asshole down the block who keeps sneaking pictures of the girls, like we can’t see him. So I say to the guy, ‘Hey, dickbag! You wanna try that over here?’”

Bucky nods along, having long since given up on his side of the conversation. He finishes his beer, more to have something to do with his mouth and hands than to get drunk. He’d hit that mark about two hours back, which is why he only holds the barest grasp on the convo he’s having with the cute brunette.

“It was a madhouse, kids were screaming, parents shielding their eyes, just fantastic-” She stops suddenly, her eyes widening as something crashes behind him and catches her attention. “Hey, isn’t that your friend?”

Bucky’s head snaps around, just in time to watch some guy flip Hawk over his shoulder and onto the pool table.

“Ah, crap.”

He jumps up and heads into the fray, leaving Crystal… Jen… whoever she is, alone at the bar. By the time he makes it through the crowd, Nat’s up on tiptoes, in the face, or as close as she can get, to some blonde chick in a beige trenchcoat. Another guy with shaggy hair is standing off to the side, yelling and bouncing around the two on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Bucky yells over the roar of the crowd. “Nat! What the fuck!”

Nat turns away at the sound of her name but before Bucky can get another word in a sharp crack lands over his left shoulder. He stumbles but luckily the brunt of the assault is absorbed by his prosthetic.  

He turns, unsteadily, to find a Jack Russell Terrier with a pool cue bouncing around his heels.

“That’s how you and your friends do, huh? Beating the shit out of a blind guy?”

Bucky blinks, trying to get the dude into focus. “What? He’s partially deaf, he’s not blind.”

The kid stops bouncing. “What?”

“What?”

“Buck! A little help!” Hawk screams.

Bucky turns his back on the indecipherable convo with the Terrier to find Hawk getting the ever-loving shit punched out of him on the ground. The guy on top is relentlessly beating Hawk in the side of the head, blows glancing off Hawk’s attempts at deflection.

“Dammit,” Bucky growls. He jumps around the pool table, cursing the last few beers he’s had as the room spins dangerously, and yanks on the dude laying into his friend like a man on a mission. They fall back onto the floor and roll, one landing on top of the other, both squirming to get a foothold back on solid ground.

“Unfair!” Bucky hears screeched from the periphery of the crowd, from a now familiar Brooklyn accent, similar to his own. It’s not clear, but he’s pretty sure the pool cue whizzes by his head at least once more.

He doesn’t have time to worry about playing fair, once he’s decided to take an active role in the fight he soon finds himself on the receiving end of hammer fisted blows to the temple, with Hawk nowhere to be found.

“Stop!” Bucky hears Nat scream, entirely too near the fight for her own good. He glances up, fighting off blows to see Nat take ahold of the guy on top of him. Luckily, the dude seems to understand what’s happening, and immediately backs off once he’s got an earful of Nat’s livid, and possibly frightened, screaming.

As the beating comes to a close, and the guy is pulled off and away by his friends, Bucky just accepts his fate and rests his spinning head on the cool wood of the bar floor. There’s a chewed up wad of gum next to his head and all he can think is he’s glad he hasn’t got any in his hair. Nat’s still screaming and, once his ears stop ringing, it becomes clear she’s yelling at _him_.

“What the fuck were you thinking?! You could have killed that guy! Do you want to end up like Nicholas Cage, toting around his fucking sad stuffed rabbit?”

Bucky manages to make it to his feet, using the pool table as a crutch, and catch the tail end of her rant, little sense that it makes.

“Out of decent work and bankrupt?” He guesses.

“She’s referencing Con Air,” the Terrier leans in to explain, looking like he finds Bucky’s lack of understanding pathetic.

“Oh,” Bucky says, fingers dabbing at the cut on his head gently, “okay, that makes more sense.”

“Why? Are you Military?” The kid asks.

“Ex.”

“Figures,” he mumbles with a sneer.

Bucky’s about to ask why if figures when a mountain of muscle in a black tee shoves his way through the crowd. “Alright, fun’s over, get the fuck out,” the suspiciously late bartender announces. “I don’t care who started it, all of you, go on.”

“Good idea.” Nat snatches Bucky by the arm and marches toward the front door, the crowd parting way for her without complaint. He wants to protest, at least until they locate Hawk, but it turns out Hawk is already outside, getting amateurishly nursed by the tall blonde Nat had been arguing with earlier and, despite the murmured complaints from her friends, seems to be apologizing to him for his trouble. As they all approach, the long-haired friend of the supreme victor yells out, “Oh! That’s the thanks Matt gets for defending your honor!”

The woman doesn’t turn away from Hawk but tersely says, “I didn’t ask him to defend my honor.”

“Can someone please explain to me what the fuck happened back there?” Bucky groans, detaching from Nat to put his back to a light post. He’s injured but he doesn’t have to make the situation worse by leaning on a girl almost half his size, regardless if she’s more than capable of holding him up.

“It’s my fault,” Hawk announces, wincing when the chick swipes too hard at his split lip.

“No, it isn’t,” she snaps, turning toward her friend. “Matt, I cannot believe you. I asked you for space, which you agreed to, I might add. What the hell were you thinking?”

Matt, nursing his own injuries, to his bloody knuckles Bucky notes in embarrassment, finally speaks up. “I didn’t know you’d be here, I swear. I’m sorry.”

The long-haired friend speaks up on his behalf. “It’s true, we just came out for drinks, we didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Alright, but that still doesn’t explain why you felt the need to step in on a private conversation.” She crosses her arms and waits for further explanation. Bucky notices for the first time that her delicate beauty hides a spine of steel, much like their own Natasha.

“You said you wanted space…” Matt scowls down at the sidewalk like a guy who isn’t sure where he’s fucked up and is piecing it together as he goes. “When Foggy said you were at the bar, talking to some guy, I-”

“Decided to deck me into next week…” Hawk mumbles to himself.

“I… Yeah, I mean, not at first but you mouthed off and I just-”

“He asked you to mind your own business, Matt!” She points out. “A sentiment that I agreed with, if you’ll recall.”

“Karen-”

“I don’t want to hear any more excuses, just apologize to the guys you hurt so I can go home.”

Out of nowhere, the scrawny kid from the bar appears, holding out a white cane to Matt, who, after a bit of fumbling, takes it from him with a nod of thanks. Suddenly the convo from the middle of the fight makes sense, and, sure enough, Hawk inadvertently blurts out, “Holy fuck, dude, you’re blind!”

Everyone turns to look at him with varying shades of disbelief or horror, not that Hawk cares. Bucky feels the second-hand embarrassment cleanly.

“Uh, yeah,” Matt affirms. “Did anyone find my glasses?”

“Got ‘em right here, buddy,” a newcomer announces. He puts them in Matt’s hand and steps back, toward Bucky as a matter of fact. Bucky flinches in surprise when the guy leans in and whispers, “That was real smooth, Barnes, the way you stopped Matt’s fist with your face.”

Bucky’s embarrassment is quickly overshadowed by the recognition of a familiar gap-toothed grin. “Wilson!”

Wilson chuckles and pulls Bucky in for a good thump on the back. “Been a minute, huh? Good to see you can still handle your liquor,” he teases.

“Fuck off!” Bucky admonishes good-naturedly. “What are you doing here? You didn’t get out, did you?”

Wilson runs a hand over his cropped hair. “Yeah, about a year ago. Just started school.”

“Oh my god,” comes an exasperated sigh, “of course you two know each other.”

The kid’s giving Bucky the stink eye again and Bucky decides he’s had it with the attitude, just on the edge of coming down from his intoxication enough to realize the little punk has been giving him shit since they’d ‘met.’

“You know this kid, Wilson? What’s his deal?”

The Terrier interrupts with, “Uh, this _kid_ is twenty-five, has one and a half good ears and his _deal_ is that you and your friend can’t take a hint to save your asses.”

Bucky blinks down at him, sure there’s a confused scowl on his face, at the very least.

Wilson chuckles and slaps them both on the back. “Barnes, Rogers. Rogers, Barnes. And don’t take it personally, man,” he addresses Bucky, “Steve here won’t let you into the pack unless he kicks your ass first. Or tries anyway.”

Rogers puffs up, gaining another inch, and turns toward Wilson with a glare.

“Try, my ass. I seem to remember clocking you upside the head pretty good there, buddy.”

“Only because nobody expects the Brooklyn Inquisition.”

While Wilson and Rogers proceed to argue over the apparently hazy details of their first altercation, Bucky takes the first clear-headed look at Rogers since he’d been whacked with a pool cue. The dude is tiny, 5’ 6”, maybe, with a build that looks like it’d be blown over by a stiff breeze, but, to Bucky’s surprise, as soon as Wilson makes the guy smile, he finds the kid is actually kinda cute. More than cute really, kinda gorgeous. Kinda stupidly gorgeous.

“Fuck,” Bucky swears under his breath.

“Hey, guys, you in?” Nat hollers over to their side of the sidewalk.

“In for what?” Bucky hollers back, glad for the distraction.

“Matt and Foggy offered to buy us all Chinese to apologise.”

Bucky can tell by her patented smirk that, if he’d been paying attention he’d have witnessed Nat work the two of them over just like her Russian mobster family had taught her. They were all lucky she used her powers for good… mostly.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “I’m in. Thanks.”

“Least I could do,” Matt says sheepishly. You’d hardly recognize him from the UFC beatdown he’d delivered not ten minutes before.

Foggy grins infectiously. “So, where too? Shaolin House? Foo’s?”

Everyone seems to have an opinion on that but Bucky stays out of it; he’ll gladly eat at whatever place they choose. He follows as the majority continue to argue, falling in behind Nat and Hawk, hands tucked into his jacket. It’s not until he hears a hushed, “Stop it,” that he turns and looks behind him.

Rogers and Wilson are leaning in close, Wilson clearly ribbing Rogers about something, knocking shoulders with him as Rogers ears go pink.

“What the hell are you looking at?” The little shit snaps when he catches Bucky looking.

“Naked mole rat trying to pull off a pea coat?” Bucky quips back. He turns back around at Wilson’s cackle, the corner of his lips curling at Rogers look of indignation.

“Told you he could take you,” Wilson says smugly. “Your attitude ain't shit to someone who’s been through basic training.”

Rogers snorts. “Save me the military rhetoric, please. I’ve heard it before.”

Bucky slows enough to address Rogers directly without walking backwards or falling in step with him. “What’s your problem with the military?”

He makes to answer, puffing up as expected, but Wilson interrupts. “Oh, I know this one! He’s gonna go on an hour long rant about the evils of the military-industrial complex but really he’s just mad they wouldn’t let him in on account of all the crippling health issues.”

“I’m gonna sock you so hard, Sam!” Rogers bellows, swinging, and missing, at Wilson’s head.

Wilson laughs at him good-naturedly, and easily manages to get him in a headlock, which forces Bucky to hear Rogers snarling threats for at least two blocks. He thinks about catching up with Hawk but he’s already made good with Matt and Foggy and it seems rude to crash their new comradery, so he trudges along in the middle. He’s still mildly drunk, staring at the shadows cast from the streetlights across his feet, and doesn’t notice Nat has fallen in beside him until she speaks up.

“He’s cute, you gotta admit.”

Bucky doesn’t deign to answer that. “Where did they end up deciding? I hear Shaolin House has the best noodles in the borough. I haven’t had a chance to-”

“I’ll be your wingman if you want. Your friend Wilson isn’t too hard on the eyes, I can take one for the team.” Her smirk is ever present.

“Don’t even think it, _Vdova._ I’m watching you.”

“And _I’m_ watching _you_ be a pussy.”

“Hey!” Rogers snaps behind them. “Don’t call people pussies.”

Nat raises an eyebrow at Bucky; tantamount to full belly laughs in her book. Bucky turns to look at Rogers, who’s been released from his bicep prison. “Since when are you sticking up for me?”

“I’m not,” he snaps. “I’m just saying she shouldn’t call people pussies. In general.”

“Don’t you think, as the owner of one,” Nat addresses Rogers, “that I should get to decide whether or not it’s okay to call someone a pussy?”

“No,” Rogers answers definitively, “because you’re encouraging the stereotype that people with vaginas are weaker and therefore less.”

“But if I know that’s not true, I should be able to say whatever I want.” Nat’s goading him, Bucky can tell. It’s working.

“Your words have impact though. How can we expect social change if we can’t even correct our language to reflect the changing times?”

Wilson watches Bucky’s take on the conversation with a playful grin. He gives Bucky a dramatic shrug and says, “I’ve tried to get him to smoke weed, there’s nothing else I can do.”

“I’m straight-edge,” Rogers growls.

“You’re asthmatic,” Wilson corrects.

 _I’m smitten_ , Bucky thinks to himself and mutters another oath under his breath.

They arrive at their destination, The Red Pagoda, and make their way toward the party tables in the back. It’s late, the restaurant nearly empty, but the kitchen is still going and they have beer on tap. As they walk by the bar Bucky thinks about keeping his buzz going but one look at Rogers blond head, with the poor attempt to slick back his baby duck feather hair, has him changing his mind.

Everyone shuffles around the table and somehow Rogers ends up on Bucky’s left, Wilson on his right. It’s not a huge deal, he can simply ignore the pint-sized punk and focus on catching up with Wilson. Good guy that he is, Wilson draws his attention soon after their drink orders are taken.

He leans in and softly speaks for Bucky’s ears only, “Hey man, I heard about what happened in- ...what happened. Sorry to hear it.” Bucky nods vaguely, catching his eye and silently thanking him for not blowing his cover by revealing the extremely top secret location of his ‘incident’. “But I heard Stark picked up the tab, kitted you out with his newest tech. That’s tight, man.”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles, “I didn’t expect him to be so… Nice? I guess. It was a bit much, meeting him, you expect the worst, hearing all the shit he pulls, but he’s actually pretty laid back. If he wasn’t a billionaire genius he’d probably be a bum on a beach somewhere.”

The server comes to take their orders, putting a pause on the conversation, but after he leaves, Wilson starts where they left off. “So you guys got to chill a lot? Like for real hang out? I figured he’d just have the docs strap it on and foot the bill.”

“Nah, he was real hands-on about it. Wouldn’t let anyone else mess with it other than the actual, you know, attaching it bit. Cause he’s not a doctor.” Wilson chuckles and sips his coke when the server sets it down. “But he was there the whole time. As soon as I woke up he was there, being nosy and annoying.”

“That’s cool, man. You guys still hang out?”

“Not as much since I got out of physio, just when I need the occasional tweak.”

“Is it cool if I get a look? I mean, say the word, I’ll shut the fuck up but-”

“No, it’s cool,” Bucky assures him. He’s not insecure about it really, it is what it is, and Wilson more than anyone understands what Bucky has been through. He shrugs out of his coat and hoodie, peels his gloves off and rolls his left sleeve up as far as he can. He’s aware that Rogers is inches from his elbow and is careful not to jostle the little dude, not that he’s paying attention; Bucky’s pretty sure Rogers is absorbed in Neko Atsume.

He’s just turning to show Wilson Stark’s handiwork when Rogers suddenly exclaims, “Oh wow,” startling Bucky into an actual flinch. “The intricacy,” he starts mumbling to himself and then shocks Bucky again when he takes ahold of Bucky’s wrist, turning his hand over so he can look it over. Rogers index finger, long and tapered, edges the curve of Bucky’s thumb where it meets his palm and Bucky freezes like a deer in headlights, the pulse pounding in his ears screaming _danger_. He lets Rogers manipulate his fingers, watching the movements of the plates, glancing briefly at the red glass lamp over their heads with a frown as he does.

 _He must not understand_ , Bucky thinks. _He doesn’t know I can feel that._

“Stay like that,” Rogers commands and then turns to root around in his messenger bag.

“You’re screwed now, buddy,” Foggy informs Bucky with a grin. Matt cocks his head toward Rogers and nods knowingly as well. “You’re about to be drawn by the only guy who quit Columbia Law to take Visual Arts.”

Bucky frowns, looking down at Rogers’ sketchpad and graphite pencil. Rogers is oblivious, sharpening his pencil, occasionally moving Bucky’s hand minutely in some way that pleases him. Bucky knows if he looks over at Wilson the bastard will be laughing at him but what the hell is he supposed to do? He can’t think about that, about what any of them think about his strange willingness to go along with Rogers’ sudden interest - especially Nat with her knowing eyes and Hawk with his big fucking mouth - so he lets his concentration be taken up by the progress on the page. The way Rogers seems to know exactly where to slide a graceful line that turns into Bucky’s forearm, the shade of the light along his chrome ‘skin’, the bumps of his knuckles where Rogers has curled his fingers just so, all of it has Bucky entranced. Time seems to slow incrementally, so slow that he feels no reason why he shouldn’t be able to follow the line of Steve’s own arm, up the pale flesh of his sinewy forearm to the indentation at the crook of his elbow, up his slim bicep, all the way to his jawline.

Right about the time Bucky’s attention snags on Steve’s lower lip, the same time he realizes he’s thinking of him as Steve, Bucky tenses up, going rigid in his seat.

“I’m not going to hit on you,” Steve mutters, almost soundless in the din of chatter around them.

“What?” Bucky snaps back, terrified he’s done something obvious somehow, been caught out and already rejected. He longs to lash out like a wounded animal.

“I know your kind,” he says, still not looking up from his sketch. “Look at a skinny, art hipster dude and make assumptions. You’d only be half right, but don’t worry,” he finally looks up, “you’re not my type.”

Steve’s eyes are so blue. Bucky’s are too of course but how often does he see his own eyes? If things had gone differently, he might’ve liked to have looked at Steve’s for a long time.

“That’s good, because even if I did fuck guys, I wouldn’t want to fuck a judgmental asshole like you.”

Bucky grabs his stuff and stands up from the table.

He’s tugging his coat on when Hawk glances up and asks, “Aw, what’s up, man? Leaving early? Food’s not even ready yet.”

Everyone is staring at him, expecting an answer. Of course now he looks like the asshole.

“No, I’m just going out for a smoke.” Let the straight-edge kid make of that what he will

He’s making his strategically cool exit when Hawk yells, “You don’t smoke.”

_Dammit, Hawk._

A blast of cold air hits Bucky in the face, cooling his flushed skin but also bringing the dull pain of his injuries to the fore. His temples begin to throb again as he settles in next to the door. Why had he let some random shithead get the better of him? Isn’t it bad enough that he’d let himself get so drunk he’d taken a beating the likes of which he hadn’t seen since middle school, he has to meet the amalgamation of his wettest dreams and his worst nightmares too? He hates that Nat thinks he’s being a coward, it’s not about just being brave enough to be comfortable in his own skin, it’s about being worthy of another person’s affections. And, while he’s come to grips with the loss of his arm, he still has miles to go before he’s ready to face everything else. What right does he have going into unknown territory with another person when he could snap and lose all sense of self at the drop of a hat?

Trying now, with someone so, so… antagonizing, no, that’s bound to end in flames.

And speak of the devil…

The bells above the door chime and Bucky groans to see the now familiar blond head swivel to find him. Rogers doesn’t say anything right away, just comes to rest against the brick face beside Bucky, hands tucked into his pockets, mirroring Bucky’s stance, whether intentional or not.

Eventually he mutters, “Your food came.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You were drunk an hour ago, you’re definitely hungry.”

Bucky clenches his teeth. “I’ll box it up for later.”

“Look, I- I can’t go back in there until you do.”

Bucky glances over at that. “Why not? It’s a free country.”

“Your friend Nat,” he begrudgingly admits. “She won’t stop staring at me like I kicked her dog.”

“In that case, nowhere is safe. She can hack any computer system in the world _and_ kill you with her thighs. You’re fucked.” When Steve looks over with a frown of confusion Bucky goes on to explain, “She quit Juilliard dance to do Computer Engineering.”  

“God. Who does that?”

“Yeah, crazy, right? Like Majoring in Fine Arts when you got into Columbia Law.”

Steve pulls a face, not acknowledging Bucky’s righteously correct point.  “You’re so smart, what are you going for then?”

“Mechanical Engineering. I met Nat in Design with Professor Trask,” he adds, possibly attempting to impress. Pathetic.

Steve looks dubious instead of impressed. “Trask? As in ‘The Pioneer of A.I.’ Dr.Trask? Author of ‘Robots are Definitely Not Going to Kill Us All One Day and Here’s Why’ Trask?” Why’d Bucky think he’d be impressed by that? Because anyone else would have been; this guy is just an asshole.

“You make him sound like he’s the President of Cyberdyne. He’s a nobel prize winning research scientist, I highly doubt he’s doing anything your little conspiracy theorist head could call evil.”

A delivery truck drives by, drowning the sound, but Bucky’s pretty sure Steve had sighed at him, as if to say ‘You poor, naive little creature.’ Bucky wants to strangle the fucker but as an ex top secret assassin for the very Government Steve is so sure is up to no good, he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on. Or, doesn’t have an arm to strangle with, rather.

“You know, I know your type too,” Bucky states, going on the offensive. Steve raises an eyebrow, daring him to do his worst. “You probably follow whatever grassroot movement is popular this week, doing your very best to lower your carbon footprint through biking and buying local, protesting the latest evil deeds with your fist in the air, but guess what? None of that means shit if all you do is blog about it. If you’re not willing to die for it.”

Steve spins on him. “You think I wouldn’t-” He cuts himself off with a grunt and turns his head away. When he turns back it’s with a look Bucky can’t figure. “Protesting is pointless? I bet the Civil Rights folks would love to hear that.”

Bucky chuckles darkly. “You think Civil Rights was the end of it, huh? Yeah, great, Sam can drink at the same water fountain as us, but he can also leave here and get frisked or worse by a cop within the hour. What kind of progress is that?”

Suddenly Steve is more fired up than Bucky has seen him yet, advancing on him like a man on a mission. “So they should be shooting back? Is that your military solution? Arm ourselves and take to the streets? Maybe the vegans should say fuck it and start cannibalizing the meat eaters? While we’re at it, let’s burn down the White House and build a farmers market in its place! Huh? That your solution?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Christ, he doesn’t even know what he means anymore. Why is he even still here arguing?

“You meant we should put up or shut up. Well sorry if I don’t take orders from the first man in uniform who made me piss in my pants.”

Bucky feels his face go feral. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know you’re a fucking lap dog and the only reason you’re not still in there is-”

Without thought, Bucky has Steve by his neck and up against the side of the restaurant. He doesn’t remember making their way into the alley but there they are, Steve pinned up against the brickwork next to the dumpster, his feet scrambling for purchase on some old newspapers.

“This?” He flexes his metal fingers slightly around Steve’s jugular. “Is that what you were going to say?” Bucky spits the last into Steve’s face.

He isn’t blocking Steve’s airway, just holding him tight enough to scare the living shit out of him. Only Steve doesn’t look scared, he looks pissed - flushed and panting.

“Go ahead, lap dog, crush the little guy.”

“Oh my god, do you ever shut the fuck up?”

Their mouths come together hard, lips pressed angrily between teeth, and then teeth pressed angrily into lips, biting and tearing at each other. Bucky’s brain is just online enough to be slightly surprised but his body must have sensed the impending clash. He’s got Steve pressed up against the brick, his legs are up around Bucky’s hips, whether of their own accord or Bucky’s he doesn’t know, doesn’t care.

“I hate your stupid man purse,” Bucky pants into Steve’s jaw line before sucking a bruise there.

Steve groans. “I hate your trendy fucking manbun,” he snaps back, winding his fingers into Bucky’s hair, tugging the tie out of it so he can grip the strands and pull their mouths back together.

Bucky’s traitorous cock is trying to plow Steve through the side of the restaurant but Steve doesn’t seem to mind, he’s rubbing his into Bucky’s stomach like it’s going out of style, and Bucky thinks to himself that putting this off had been stupid. Nat is right as usual, not that he’ll admit that to her.

Steve backs away far enough to pant, “Look, if I ask you to fuck me, it has no bearing on my attitude towards you as a human being, alright? I still think you’re-”

Bucky cuts that off by jamming his tongue back into Steve’s mouth while he wars with himself over the insanity of fucking a virtual stranger in an alley in the middle of the night. He could. He could do it easily, has a condom in his wallet that he’d put there only hours before, the just-in-case sort of thing one does on a Saturday night out.

He grips Steve’s tiny waist and feels his bones under the button-down shirt he’s wearing, feels how fragile and breakable he is, but also the knowing way he curls around Bucky and rides against him. It’s terrifying and sexy, debilitating and amazing.

Steve nips at his lower lip and Bucky feels himself nod against all better judgement. “Okay,” he whispers briefly, in case Steve didn’t catch the movement.

“Condom?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods again, propping Steve against the wall with his prosthetic so he can reach into his back pocket for his wallet. After a bit of fumbling he manages to get the thing free but after that he’s not sure what the protocol is- aren’t you supposed to prep a guy before anal sex? Like, you can’t just jump on in, can you? Everything’s going so fast, too fast, and lord knows the kind of porn he’s been watching lately is not what you would call educational.  

“Set me down,” Steve commands, thankfully taking charge. “You take care of the condom.”

Bucky complies, setting Steve back down on the ground while he fumbles nervously with his belt and zipper. He watches, trying for casual, as Steve, right there in the alleyway, drops trou.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says dryly, addressing the obvious discrepancy between his stature and the size of his member, thankfully hidden from any passers-by the length of his coat. “Haven’t you ever got with a huge guy under the assumption that he’d be packing, only to find a tic-tac?”

Bucky licks his lips. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Whatever, hurry up with that condom.” Steve turns to root through his ever present bag, the clicking of pencils and rulers the only soundtrack to Bucky’s panic. His boner is giving him problems and his fingers are acting like they’ve never rolled a condom before. He stops fumbling to stare at the ground.

_What the fuck are you doing? Are you really about to have sex with the Terrier in a back alley behind a Chinese restaurant?_

Suddenly, Steve lets out a grunt and Bucky looks up from his contemplation to find Steve burying two of his long artist fingers into his asshole. Bucky lets out a sympathetic grunt, more of a groan, and finds he doesn’t have to worry about his erection flagging. Steve’s eyes have drifted shut but he starts mumbling aloud as he continues to work himself open.

“Stupid perfect jawline… I wouldn’t even think about doing this if you weren’t so fucking hot. Think you know everything just because someone handed you an assault rifle.”

Without thought, Bucky grabs Steve by the back of his thighs and hauls him up, slamming him against the bricks again, tight enough to push a huff of air from Steve’s chest.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, that smart mouth won’t have anything to say but my name,” Bucky growls, and then licks his way back into Steve’s mouth before he can come up with a retort. Bucky can feel his jaw straining, as wide and deep as their mouths are working against each other, but he doesn’t care. They’ve sucked the unique flavor from each other’s tongues, to that point where they only taste of each other, and it’s perfect - hot, wet, slightly desperate.

“Now,” Steve groans at him, “I’m ready, c’mon.”

Bucky finishes rolling the condom on quickly, one-handed, and Steve helps him by angling his ass for easy access. It’s only when he aligns them that reason edges it’s way across his mind again.

“These aren’t lubricated condoms, uh,” he licks his lips nervously, “does that matter?”

“What? No, just spit on the fuckin’ thing. This your first time? Christ,” Steve says as if dealing with an amateur is the worst offence imaginable.

He refuses to look up, to meet Steve’s eyes, but he knows it’s too late, he’s hesitated too long. Everything goes embarrassingly quiet.

Instead of refusing to go on or, at the very least, teasing him mercilessly, Steve lays a surprising kiss at Bucky's temple. He leans forward to whisper gentle instructions directly into Bucky's ear - push slow but firm - leading him efficiently home.  Normally it would have felt condescending to have something that should be simple explained to him this way but Bucky finds he's only grateful.

Steve is shaking by the time Bucky is completely buried, they both are, but Steve’s shivering makes Bucky nervous, so he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, god, yeah. Just… Just hold there for a second, if you can.”

 _I can_ , he wants to say. _I’ll do whatever you tell me._ But he doesn’t say that. God, how fucking embarrassing would that be? He’s already tucked his face against Steve’s neck like a kid who hides behind his mama’s hair, already shown his hand as far as his inexperience is concerned, he sure as hell isn’t going to start pounding away at the guy like a fifteen year old. His hips are straining to do otherwise but he’s got more control than that.

“Alright,” Steve says, shifting his hips up and back gently, “I think we’ll just do it like this. This is good, right?”

Bucky feels gut punched by electric heat, but attempts keeping it cool by choking out, “Yeah. This is good.”

They stay that way for a long time, both content to let Steve do most of the work. It’s amazing, better than he thought it would be. He’d always imagined some filthy encounter, drunk and messy. By rights it should be just that, they’re in an alley for Christ’s sake, but it’s not. It’s slow and damned sweet and he loves the soft breaths he can feel and hear from Steve as they move against one another. Better than the exaggerated caterwauling some girls attempt, because it feels real. He can tell Steve’s holding back, trying not to draw attention to them but deep in his chest Bucky can tell there’s a rumbling purr of satisfaction just waiting to come out.

It becomes suddenly necessary to hear that sound.

He pulls Steve’s arms from around his neck and pins them above with one hand, the other he uses to hold Steve to the wall, for support, and then drives forward, over and over.

Steve lets out one good gasp and then decides Bucky’s mouth will make a good place to muffle any more escaping sounds. Bucky movements go a bit desperate, mouth sucking on Steve’s lower lip, his hips snapping out an uneven rhythm. Steve takes it like a champ, only pulling back to gasp once, twice, and then with a quick, surprised groan, throws his head back against the wall and comes against Bucky’s stomach.

Bucky doesn’t last long after that, no fucking way. He empties himself into Steve with a broken whimper. They hold each other and shiver, the sweat they’ve built up going cold in the October chill.

“Don’t set me down yet,” Steve commands, though it falls flat as far as demands go, as breathless as he sounds.

“What if I _wanna_ see you fall flat on your ass?” Bucky quips.

A smile twitches at Steve’s mouth and for the first time it feels like teasing, instead of whatever rivalry they’d fallen into before.

Steve lets a chuckle escape, one that Bucky can’t help but mirror, and then lays his forehead against Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s heart skips a beat. He hopes desperately that Steve didn’t hear it.

“You’d have to walk my injured ass home, you know, like a gentleman soldier oughta.”

There’s a tentative offer there, a truce brewing between them. Bucky gently lays his left hand against Steve’s nape, lets his fingers slip through silky strands, registering the sensation as minute as it is, and hums as if thinking over the statement.

“Well now you’ve thrown the gauntlet. Wouldn’t be right of me to just leave you here next to the dumpster, would it?”

Steve shakes his head slowly, probably more to get Bucky to scratch his hair some more than in negation. “You gotta follow me all the way to Harlem.”

 _Yeah,_ Bucky thinks, _I do, don’t I?_

……………

  


Six months later…

  
  


“They’re crocked.”

 

“Your face is crocked. Hand me the hammer.”

 

Steve reaches down and grabs it but gets distracted by the buzzer and runs off with it in hand.

 

“You little shit,” Bucky grumbles, letting the last strand of lights fall and dangle. _Good enough_ , he thinks and jumps down from the ladder, flopping onto the padded deck chair. The air is still chilly, especially on the twenty-sixth floor of their new apartment balcony, but it feels good. There’s a lukewarm bottle of some local brew Steve likes waiting for him on the side table. He takes a swig and lets the sounds of New York lull and comfort him, thinks about how long Steve postured about being straight-edge before admitting that it was bogus.

 

A muffled crack of laughter filters through the glass door and Bucky glances inside. Thor and Jane have arrived, their friend Bruce in tow. Bucky likes Bruce, he’s quiet, sort of a soothing presence, the kind of personality without pretense or deceit, but underneath that nerdy exterior hides a surprisingly short fuse. He’s the kind of guy who will do his best to talk someone out of a fight but the first to throw a chair if that doesn’t work out.

 

Thor, who Bucky has mentally titled The Unlikely Viking for his large frame but cuddly personality, is a friend of Steve’s from some shared class or other. They’re a strange pair at first glance but once you get them going about sports it’s obvious where the friendship is rooted. To Steve’s continued annoyance, Bucky could still care less about the Mets. Jane, though adorable and quirky, a running theme in their group, is so far beyond smart it’s a wonder why she puts up with any of them. With her as always, he notes, is Darcy. Bucky mentally calculates how much booze they have, and the location of his cell phone. He’s been burned by her before.

 

He keeps watch from the safety of the balcony until Tony and Pepper show up. Technically they’re here for the housewarming party, which makes them guests of him and Steve both, but he’s learned his lesson when it comes to Steve and Tony in the same room.

 

Hefting his weight out of the deep padding of the chair is made easier by the sound of Foggy and Matt arguing over Matt’s ability to navigate the elevator by himself. Sam and Claire bring up the rear, watching the proceedings with an amused eye.

 

“Buddy!” Sam calls out to him, pulling him into a hug when Bucky reaches the entryway. “Nice digs, man.”

 

Bucky gives him a look. “You were here last night.”

 

Sam deflates. “Shit, I know. I’m still not sure what the point of a house warming party is. Y’all know you moved, we know you moved.” He shrugs as he falls onto their new sectional.

 

“It’s traditional,” Claire points out, sliding in next to him. “Right? You have to break in the new place with shenanigans or crock pots or something.”

 

Sam looks dubious. “Like they ain’t broke in everything in this place.”

 

Bucky eyes the couch meaningfully and Sam jumps up, yelling and hollering just like Bucky knew he would. Steve comes to investigate, hammer still in his possession, and throws a questioning look at them.

 

“You don’t want to know,” Claire answers dryly. “Little boy stuff.”

 

“Typical,” Steve says, garnering a slap on the ass that nearly throws him off balance. “Hey, I’m armed and not afraid to use this.” He waves the hammer at Bucky.

 

“Later, darling, we have guests.” He grins when Sam slaps his hands over his ears and heads toward the kitchen, assumingly headed for the booze.

 

“Stay out of my rosé!” Steve yells.

 

“Hey, pretty boy,” Darcy calls over to Bucky, “where _is_ the booze in this joint? We livin’ in a dry state or what?”

 

Steve gives him a look, Bucky pats his pocket to say he’s got the phone on him, and yells back, “Why didn’t you bring your own?”

 

The answering look is hot enough to scorch his eyebrows off. Foggy describes it to Matt in great detail.

 

“Just stay out of Steve’s rosé!” Bucky says. “Make yourself useful and bring the lot of it out here!”

 

She flips him off but Jane pulls her toward the kitchen with a grin. He trusts Jane to keep Darcy in line at least. Thor moves over toward Tony and Banner, who’ve no doubt struck up a conversation about something no one else in the apartment will understand. Bucky smiles when Pepper wanders over.

 

“Hey, Steve, if you’re not busy-”

 

“Oh yeah,” Steve jumps to motion her toward the hall, handing Bucky the hammer before he shows her to his studio. He frowns down at the thing, looking around for an appropriate place to set it before deciding to just hold onto it.

 

“So they really gonna put Steve’s stuff up in Stark Tower?” Foggy asks after Pepper and Steve are gone.

 

“Yeah, some of his Blue Period or whatever are in the Conference room. You’re looking at what Pepper’s latest commission bought.”

 

Claire grins up at him. “I love how you have no idea what Steve’s paintings are called.”

 

Bucky shrugs. He knows what they look like - they’re abstract and blue. And he’s seen the ones Pepper has commissioned, they’re representations of the good things Stark Industries has done since Tony has turned the company around. Clean energy initiatives, the tech he’s created to help third world countries to get around their own limitations, as far as agriculture and infrastructure, even the tech attached to Bucky’s arm is included. Of course sitting for that one had lead to a few NSFW sketches, which ended up on the floor…

 

Steve is very talented.

 

The buzzer goes off again but Claire jumps up to get it, waving Bucky away.

 

“Hawk and Kate,” she announces after letting them in the door. “Sounded like a gaggle of girls standing behind them too.”

 

Bucky hums. “That’d be Nat, Peggy, Angie, and Sharon.”

 

“Okay, I know Nat but who’re the rest?”

 

Bucky blows on his bangs and explains. “Peggy is Steve’s ex from high school, Angie is her girlfriend, Sharon is Peggy’s cousin from DC. Nat and Angie went to Juilliard together, turns out. Have you ever heard Nat squeal?” Claire’s eyebrows go up. “Yeah, I hadn’t either. It was unreal.”

 

“What? That time Nat and Angie ran into each other at Luke’s?” Sam asks, handing the two of them a beer each.

 

“Yeah.” He flips their caps off with his thumb without thought, used to the maneuver. “If we’re lucky they’ll reach subsonic frequency and we won’t be able to hear them.”

 

“Girls I can handle,” Sam says, “it’s Hawk I’d be worried about. What with the new furniture and all.”

 

Bucky makes a face but quips, “That’s what Kate is for.”

 

“For being the youngest, she sure has her shit together.” Sam takes a swig. “I can’t believe they’re not together.”

 

“Nah, they have more of a student slash teacher thing going on.”

 

“But which one is the student and which one is the teacher?” Sam asks.

 

Bucky salutes with his glass. “Exactly.”

 

Hawk and the girls arrive, not nearly as loud as their previous discussion would have them believe. At some point, Nat yells at Steve to show his ass, who does, thank god, because Bucky is not meant to play host. He’s thought to himself, once or twice, that he’s glad he’s no longer friends with anyone from his past, barring family, because they would be quick to point out how much he’d changed since joining the army, and that kind of shit was hard on recovery. Even being surrounded by people he knows and counts as friends is rough after just an hour. If it wasn’t their party perhaps he could have calmed down a bit, enjoyed himself, but feeling pressured into making sure everyone is having a good time, it’s nerve-wracking.

 

_Tony just ate all the chips. Hawk broke the new lamp Steve got at that antique shop because Kate was in the bathroom. By the way, where’s the tp? Is Sharon single? Sorry, I spilt guac on the carpet._

 

“Hey,” Steve leans in and speaks softly, “you wanna take a breather?”

 

Bless him, Steve knows Bucky’s tells. He glances at the balcony but sees that at some point Jess, Trish, and Malcolm have shown up and commandeered the space alongside Claire and Sam. Bucky instead pulls Steve toward their bedroom and closes them inside.

 

Steve has him around the middle, up on tiptoes so he can push his nose under Bucky’s ear. “What do you need?” He whispers. Bucky shrugs, content just to be here in the dark with Steve. “You want me to sit on your butt and rub your back?”

 

Bucky nods and squeezes Steve as hard as he dares. They move to the bed and fall in instinctively, using what little light available from under the door and the window to see by. Bucky pulls his shirt out of his pants and throws it to the floor, moaning when Steve immediately begins rubbing his thumbs into the tense muscle along his spine.

 

Steve goes into a pointless diatribe over the new changes in his Advanced Painting Mentor Program, because he knows Bucky will listen to the sound of his voice, if not the point of his complaints, as he massages away the stress of the day. It’s exactly what he didn’t know he needed. He’s nearly asleep, massaged into a coma, when Steve falls forward and lays out on top of him. He comes to with a rush of affection.

 

“Fuck it. Think everyone will be okay if we stay in here?” Bucky’s voice barely makes it out of the pillow.

 

“Yeah,” Steve mumbles into his hair. “Fuck ‘em.”

 

“I love you, lil shit.”

 

“Love you too, lap dog.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> There you have it. Completely pointless but I hope everyone liked it. For anyone who didn't get the Con Air reference, Nicholas Cage's character went to prison for accidentally killing a guy in a bar brawl. Because he was Military, his hands were considered deadly weapons and he was sent to prison for murder, which is a real thing that can happen. The stuffed rabbit was for his daughter and is incredibly pathetic throughout the entire film.  
> I tried to work in absolutely every Marvel character I could there at the end, if you couldn't tell. Hope the giant Marvel party made sense.  
> This is the first complete work I've done in the last six months so I need the positive feedback on this one. Motivate me to get off my ass and finish the other 10 incomplete works on my drive. <3


End file.
